Fugitive

Ostiarium

Sargent Carver kicked down the door to the last building and stood in rage at the site of the next victim. Mellandra Avaloc laid on the cold stone floor in a pool of her own blood.
The veteran soldier curses loudly. The slippery bastard, was still killing people while running away. And not just anyone but an agent of the Duke. The natives were growing bolder, judging by the victims and the fact one of his agents had likely walked around her city with impunity. Although she was sure he was not a tribesman but then again she had only caught a glimpse of the devil.

Looking around the room, she saw a sturdy pack , rations and other items that clearly showed that Mellandra was getting ready to travel. The stable next door laid empty so maybe the assassin had taken her horses. She cursed again.

One more month, one more bloody month and her contract was due, and her parcel of land signed over to her. One more month and she would be a private citizen again. Why did it all have to go to shit so close to her leaving this life behind?

She turned to one of her soldiers and called for some horses...